Simply Belle

I am 40 something years old, petite, and fit into my children’s wardrobe.

Part of my daughter’s therapy is to keep her busy to get her mind occupied on something, like watching movie, taking walks, scrap booking, folding origami, etc. Last night, we agreed that we see a movie on a big screen in a nearby theater. We live only 5 minutes away from the nearest and only theater in town.

First, I took her to the nursery to buy plants for her apartment. She said she could use some plants for her apartment as it is too bare and needing some touch-ups. Then we stopped by at a friend’s salon to deliver fresh organic veggies from the garden. We gifted her a combination of pechay, chard, beet top, sweet basil, tomatoes, and eggplant.

Then, on the way home, we stopped by at the park to do our daily walk. We normally sit on the park for a minute or two to reflect/enjoy the beautiful scenery. I said we might have to skip on the sitting part as we were running late . You know, as a mother, I have other functions…too many functions actually, that often times, i run short of time to fulfill on some. We only circled the park once- equivalent to a mile.

Came home, fixed dinner right away while L prepared her favorite enchilada. I don’t know why she doesn’t care for my cooking which my husband and my other daughter are fond of. The only food that she likes from my cooking is eggroll. What can you do? She is 19 years old, and has her own food preference. She loves Mexican food.

She got herself a soft-round tortilla, grated some cheese and spread it on the tortilla, added slices of tomatoes, add a dash of pepper, drizzle some Tabasco, and microwave it for a minute. It was a actually delicious as I had a taste of it. But, is it a well-balanced diet? Let’s see. There are protein, carbohydrates, & veggie–good enough, I thought, plus the fact that it is delicious. What do you think?

I finished cooking before 7 PM, movie was at 7:30 PM. My husband and I ate the delicious stew I cooked with carrots, potatoes, celery, pepper, and fresh tomatoes from the garden, simmer to perfection. The gravy was devilishly good and creamy! It hit the spot!

We left the house at exactly 7:15 PM. I let L buy the ticket. It cost $8 per person. It was dark outside and the only source of light was from the ticket counter. I heard L ask if there was a discount for a student. The guy said No. From a distance, I asked if they gave discount to the senior. The boy just mumbled and handed us a dollar change. L was surprised to get a dollar back when she was actually rummaging through her pocket looking for a dollar more.

Hmmm, I get a dollar back, cool…L muttered.

Lexi, what happpened? Did he give me a senior discount???, I asked.

Apparently so, she laughed.

That is an outrage! I retorted.

Ahh, let it go, we have something to buy popcorn and drinks, L responded.

Suddenly, we were inside the theater enjoying popcorn, but at the same time I was feeling guilty for what had just transpired. It kept haunting me up until now. My husband was laughing because he thought it was an insult. I didn’t care about that. It wasn’t right, per se. I have to go back there and return the $2 that I was never entitled to.

What would you do?

13 Comments »

Many years ago, when I first moved in the town where I live, I had the privilege of working with a great supervisor named John for a few months. Unfortunately though, he retired shortly thereafter. Anyway, it is a customary at work to give a retirement party for the person who is leaving, and part of the ritual is to write a song in honor of that person.

Here’s the song that was written by RW.

Every morning at the PO you could see him arrive
He stood 6″4′ and weighed 265
Kinda wide at the shoulders and wide at the hips
And if you asked a question he’d say “I am workin on it”, Big John
Big John, Big Jooo–ohn, Big Bad John Big John

Nobody seemed to know where John called home
He just drifted into town and stayed all alone
He brought him some cars and he drove them hard
Then he made them lawn art in his back yard, Big John

Somebody said he came from New York City
And imagined himself as kinda pretty
After coming to Payson, he got kinda fat
As for diet, he was “just thinkin about that” Big John
Big John, Big Jooo–ohn, Big Bad John, Big John

Then came the day at the supervisor’s desk
White tubs were piled high, it was really a mess
When all of the sudden they started to sway
And somebody yelled “Get out of the way!” to Big John

In the paper dust of that Man-made hell
Sat a giant of a man that the workers knew well
As the mail came crashing down towards his chair
They heard him say, “It’s here somewhere” Big John
Big John, Big Joo–ohn Big Bad John Big John

Then all at once he shouted, “Gol-Darn!”
And he stopped the slide with his great big arm
And twenty workers scrambled from a would-be grave
And now there’s only one left down there to save, Big John

With picks and shovels they dug for a while
Then came that sound from under the pile
And they noticed an ODOR rising fast
And everybody knew that he’d passed gas, Big John
Big John, Big Jooo—ohn, Big Bad John… Big John

Now they never uncovered that worthless pile
They just placed a marble stand right there on the tile
And these few words are written on that stand
“We all got to work for a pretty good man, Big John”
Big John, Big Jooo–ohn, Have fun John.

4 Comments »

Note: From the eyes of my daughter.

It’s convenient for employees at a nursing home to be able to leave the uncomfortable environment at the end of everyday, but unfortunately, the residents are stuck there. It makes me very very sad, to say the least, that these residents have the misfortune of living there, especially under the care of some very cranky nursing assistants.

Everytime I walk into this nursing home, there’s always the smell of a strong perfume, or the kitchen baking something, probably to disguise the smell of something unpleasant. I turn left down a sleepy hallway whose only source of light is from the windows. They leave squares on the carpet and illuminate the white particles in the air. There are no resident rooms on this hallway. During the weekday, this hall is full of phone rings and office personnel, but today it’s just me.

I turn a corner at the end of the hall. I see residents confined to their wheelchairs. These are the residents who are physically unable to care for themselves. They sit in front of the aviary and watch the birds all the day. It is, for some, the only source of entertainment. They watch the birds as they dream about the days of yore when they could walk and talk to their friends. Now, they are forgotten by the rest of the world. Only a lucky few receive phone calls and visits from their loved ones. It is a common misconception to say that no one cares for the old people in the nursing homes. The nurses and nurse’s assistants do care, but there are so many residents per person, and so much work to do, that finding quality time to spend with each resident is virtually impossible. This isn’t my floor.

I tentatively walk down the hall avoiding eye contact. If they can stop me, I might get sucked into an unfortunate mission. I reach the double doors at the end of the hall. They are locked. The only way in or out is by typing a secret code into the keypad. I type the code and walk through. This is my hall - the behavioral unit.

The behavioral unit is for residents who are mentally incapable of caring for themselves. They suffer from diseases ranging from Alzheimer’s to dementia. These residents don’t dream for the lives they once knew; they live their old lives in their minds. They think it’s still 1986, and the reason why their dog isn’t nearby is because somebody took him out to go pee. Every room is initially the same, and over time, each room has its own signature. I see the pretty pictures in the frames. They were taken 10, 20, and 50 years ago. The persons pictured in them look so healthy and young. They look like someone I’d run into at the the supermarket. I wonder sometimes how they’d react if they knew how they had digressed within a few years’ time.

Aha, there she is,, says a man’s voice.

My heart sinks to my shoes. I absolutely hate his voice, and I’m not at all too fond of the guy it belongs to either.

You’re shadowing me today, he says.

Hi, I mumble.

This man’s name is Tom. His likeness resembles that of a walrus. I could hardly guess his weight, and when asked of his age, his response is,

I’m old enough to be your father.

I’d rather stick tacks under my nails. He is a poor excuse for a Certified Nursing Assistant, and what’s even worse, he is an example I have been assigned to follow.

Let’s go change Harry, he says.

We walk past a room containing a screaming lady.

Should we check on her?, I ask.

She doesn’t know why she’s screaming, he responds,

Nobody just screams for no reason. I am swept away towards Harry’s room, but I still hear the screams reverberating down the hall. Harry’s room is hot and stuffy. It has an atmosphere that screams boredom and loneliness. Whenever I walk into a distressed resident’s room, I always fell drowned with the emotions of whoever’s been there. I look around and see Harry by the closet.

Harry, what are you doing?, yells Tom.

There goes Tom yelling again. It has to be his favorite past-time.

What are you doing? he continues, That is NOT the bathroom! That’s the closet.

Calm down, I protest.

Tom obviously ignores me. His face turns a deep red. A vein starts to pop out of his neck. He raises his chubby hand ready to strike. My heart starts to beat faster.

Stop! Don’t hit him! I’ll clean it up! I yell.

SMACK! It’s too late. I hear Harry’s confused yelp of pain. My heart screams with him. For a moment, I stand there in shock.

That’s it, says a lady’s authoritative voice behind me. I whirl my head around. It is the Charge Nurse.

I’ve warned you several times, Tom. YOU’RE FIRED!

Tom just stands there in shock. His mouth hangs stupidly as he tries to find an excuse. He’s always trying to find excuses. Feeling very out of place, I sneak out. I find refuge in screaming lady’s room.

What’s wrong, I ask.

The lady doesn”t respond. She just keeps on screaming. I notice her water bottle has fallen on the floor. I pick it up and hand it to her. She stops screaming.

Sometimes all these people need are someone who will listen.

7 Comments »

I wonder if you could help me solve my problem regarding leaving comments to some of my friends’ sites that blog at blogspot.com. When I am asked to choose an identity, I am only given two choices and they are google/blogger and openID, thus leaving poor me out. Whatever happened to the original “option” where commenters could leave their name and a link to their URL plus the anonymous feature? Was is removed without further notice? That is not nice! If that is the case, I would advice my niece, Gie, whom I recently directed to blogspot.com, to move to a more user and visitor friendly site like wordpress.com.

In some though, the old option is still there like Elyani, Chesca, Anna, to name a few. But with the newer bloggers, they took the old option and replaced with a new one wherein anonymous and name/url users are not allowed to leave comments. Now, I will miss Fe, Gie, and others….

Here’s the old comment option:

Choose an identity
Google/Blogger
Username——————

Password——————

No Google Account? Sign up here.
You can also use your Blogger account.
OpenID OpenID LiveJournal WordPress TypePad AOL
LiveJournalWordPressTypePadAIM

Name/URL —————–
Name ———————
URL ———————
Anonymous
Publish Your Comment
Preview

The new comment option

Choose an identity
Google/Blogger
Username——————

Password——————

No Google Account? Sign up here.
You can also use your Blogger account.
OpenID OpenID LiveJournal WordPress TypePad AOL
LiveJournalWordPressTypePadAIM

Publish Your Comment
Preview

12 Comments »

Note: YouTube videos below are no longer available. You may google them up yourself.

Last Monday, Phyllis, a friend of mine from Las Vegas called another friend of mine in Seattle, Elaine, to tell her that a girl with a giant talent from the Philippines was going to be featured on Oprah show tomorrow, which was yesterday. Elaine then asked me some questions about the girl through YM (yahoo messenger.)

E: Do you know anything about this girl that Oprah is guesting tomorrow?

Me: Her name is Charice Pempengco and she has an awesome and powerful voice for such a little girl. I can’t watch her live on Oprah show though because I am working tomorrow, but I will definitely watch her on YouTube.

The following night, she sent me an email telling me that she and Bob (her husband) were blown away by Charice’s performance, with tears streaming down their faces. I have watched Charice hundred times on YouTube and I know that she is undeniably one of the best singers out there right now, if not the best, for her age.

Out of curiosity and excitement from the worldwide attention she was getting, I wasted no time searching for her recent performance on Oprah on YouTube and watched all four segments at once, unmindful of my husband’s constant complaint of the noise volume. (I purposely blocked him off for the duration of the show so I wouldn’t miss a thing.) This is the second time she appeared on Oprah, and I tell you, the saying, “it is sweeter the second time around,” is, indeed, true. I wasn’t even through with the first segment, I soaked in probably four pieces of kleenex. And I wasn’t supposed to cry because I have seen her perform many times before on YouTube but I couldn’t hold my tears especially when she narrated in tears her humble beginnings, life’s experiences, early struggles, and painful childhood memories of her abusive father.
And her rendition of Celine Dion’s song, My Life Will Go on, once again, brought me to tears and took my breath away.

It is so amazing how such a little girl,who came from a poor family, is now singing duet with well-known and big time singers like Celine Dion and Andre Bocelli. This, folks, is history in the making, as I wasn’t aware of any singers from Philippines who had gotten this much international attention.

Sorry, I had to delete the videos because they are no longer available on YouTube.

7 Comments »

Gardening in Arizona is extremely tough because not only do we have to worry about the extreme sunlight, dry temperature, and lack of rain, we also have to deal with hungry critters that will eat the young plants right down to the ground. Our worst enemy though is the scorching heat and dry climate because it cooks the seeds before they even have a chance to sprout up. We also have the elk that comes at night and can jump over any fence below 8 feet, the quail that likes to peck on the baby plants, the huge and fat grasshopper, a bevy of hungry birds, and other creatures we don’t even see. So, what do you do? Give up?

That is what we did for a while when the gophers practically demolished every single plant in the garden last year. It was a devastating feeling knowing that our gardening days were over. My husband even thought of moving to another state like Oregon which boasts of mild climate, and deep-top soil - a gardener’s paradise. But, we invested so much time and effort on this garden, we can’t just give up and leave, right? There must be another way of beating all the odds, thus, the idea of raised bed came to mind.

I tell you, it isn’t easy. It is a back breaking job. First, my husband dug down below ground level, spread the hardware cloth to ward off gopher, and laid the cement blocks three layers high. Then he filled the bottom with rocks for drainage, followed by a combination of sand, top soil, and compost. We had this compost pile for years and finally found a use for it. A very very rich soil, I must say. The idea of including the sand is for the water to penetrate down to the roots instead of settling on the surface and because of our dry weather, it evaporates in no time.

Let me tell you first how pocket gophers operate. They remind me of the Taliban fighters-very clever. They build a centralized hole underground and from it, they branch out and create tunnels all over, and cover the end of the tunnels with soil to conceal them from the gardener.Hmmm, I am beginning to think that Taliban must have gotten the idea of underground operation from these creatures. Notice the similarities? So, when you finally spot a hole, you try to stick a piece of lean wood to try to corner them, but they just go to the next tunnel and exit at the other end. Just like the Taliban, they are extremely hard to fight because they attack from underground engaging in a methodical and perplexed operation. So frustrating!

Anyway, going back to my story:

Seeing that the first bed was doing extremely well, it gave my husband the inspiration to build a much larger one. He has been working on it for about a month now and is only half way through. In other words, he had the bed built but hasn’t filled it up yet. Two days ago, I talked him into visiting our friends’ garden in Roosevelt (an hour-drive from home), and gladly obliged with the utility trailer hooked behind our truck. He said since we were going to that direction, he might as well haul some cow’s manure for the second bed.

When we got there, he said, “honey, i brought an extra shovel just in case you want to help.” “Huh, I am not wearing the right shoes!” I squalled. And I am talking about temperature in the 100’s with practically no humidity! But I relented, and started shoveling away filling up the front side while my husband took care of the back side.

Here are the pictures:

You see the flip-flop I was wearing? Definitely not suitable for shoveling.

A shade cloth is used to cut down 40% of the sunlight, and to help keep most of the insects out and the soil from drying out fast.

10 Comments »

Because of pocket gophers’ problem last year, I thought our garden days were over. But apparently not so. We finally thought of ways to outsmart the conniving and illusive gophers by building raised beds made of bricks and spreading hardware cloth at the bottom. My husband spent about 3 weeks on the first bed, and is currently half-way through with the second one. The process involves a lot of hard labor because he has to fill the bottom with huge rocks for drainage. Then he mixes the top soil with sand and uses it to fill up the bed.

So far, we are happy with the results as shown by the pictures below.

Notice there are some holes on pechay’s leaves. Despite of the shade cloth that we put over the plants, some unknown insects still manage to get through. But, it is okay because those holes don’t alter the taste of the vegetables.

My husband has been telling me to thin off the beets as they are getting crowded. I thought I would just leave them the way they are right now until I have the courage to pull off the unfortunate plants.

Our first harvest which includes pechay, chard, and beet’ tops. And guaranteed pesticide free.

And I transformed them into this delicious veggie dish. Oh, so good!

Fresh fruits and veggies from the garden.

13 Comments »